Before the words, my hands grow cold,

The weight of truth, so hard to hold.

A heart, unsure, but trained to speak,

A voice that trembles, yet must be weak.

What will they hear? What will they feel?

How will I make their sorrow real?

The room is heavy, filled with air,

A silence thick with silent prayer.

Good news, I hope, a brighter day—

Or words of loss, too hard to say. ...